Parenting Blog

Running In Sandals And Peeling Eggs At 2 AM

The wifey’s family reunion was yesterday, in a park near where I grew up. In fact, pavilion #4 was within a stone’s throw from the gruesome fish-hook-in-my-knee-incident of my youth. And no, I’m not 100% over it. The fish hook that is, not the reunion. That was fine enough.

Stupidly, I wore sandals to the once-every-5-years thing which meant I spent the entire afternoon awkwardly attempting to play soccer, baseball, football, party games, and partake in a big Wiffle Ball match in footwear that had me slipping and tripping…when they weren’t coming off completely. I tried to go barefoot at times, but my sensitive lil’ feeties don’t love Mother Nature’s rubble. Why I didn’t wear my running kicks, I just don’t know. I’m normally way smarter and far more prepared. This summer, I’ve nicknamed myself The Boyscout That Never Was.  Not so much on Sunday.  The end result was a very sore me, from one too many clumsy movements on the fields of play.


I’d like to think that the aches and pains in my knees and lower back are the primary reason I’ve been up since 2am this morning. But honestly, my inability to sleep soundly and through the night has far more to do with the fact that in a matter of hours my youngest child, my kooky blonde monster, will begin kindergarten.

We’ve been unusually busy this summer and while it’s been crazy memorable, it has also left me with little downtime to process the fact that, holy shit y’all, my baby is going to school!


It being day one, I offered to the girls the entire world of cuisine.  I’d make anything they wanted for their first lunch of the ’12-’13 school year.  They both opted for egg salad, which is beyond funny because for at least the last 3 years, the Bear insisted that she did NOT enjoy this particular homemade delicacy.  The Mouse has been the polar opposite.  She’d eat it everyday if I was THAT into peeling eggs.  I am not.  In fact, it may be my least favorite kitchen activity.  Yet there I was a couple of hours ago, with the darkened house impossibly quiet, picking off miniscule flecks of eggshell with my non-existent fingernails, cutting the eggs up with a butter knife (I refuse to ever use an egg slicer), swirling them around in mayo, and adding a dash of sea salt and black pepper.

I may have been eating a piece of leftover family reunion cake while doing all that.  You’ll never know for sure.


Lunch is made. The kitchen is clean. I am sore, and WIDE awake. If I ponder what today means I might just cry myself back to sleep. But that’d be a snotty mess and I just changed the sheets.

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